


Call It a Favor

by LittleMousling



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Bicuriosity, Crushes, First Time Blow Jobs, Friendship, Kindness, Loan of a spouse, M/M, Sweetness, negotiation and discussion, people being good to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling
Summary: @RonanFarrow: How did they pull off this booking though?@jonfavs: Replying to @RonanFarrow: I called in a favor





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the better-than-tweets bunch, particularly @sadtomatoff who contributed several lines and a bunch of helpful direction!

“Ice cream?” Lovett suggests. They’ve been lingering over dinner long enough that the waitstaff is sending them dirty looks, but he knows a place that sells ice cream all night, which is handy information to have. 

“Let’s go back to yours,” Emily says. “You have booze at yours?”

“Who do you take me for? Some kind of lush? —yeah, I have booze at mine, sure. Are you gonna keep me up past my bedtime again? Never mind, I don’t care.”

Emily grins at him. “You’re way too hyped up for ice cream,” she tells him. “C’mon.”

Emily’s pushy back at his place, too, plying him with alcohol— “Edibles take _forever_, Lovett. Do a shot with me” —and then arranging him for her comfort on the couch, her head tipped back against his chest. “This is nice.”

It is, actually, especially after a couple of beers at dinner and more than a couple of shots with Emily in his kitchen. “You’re my only friend I cuddle with,” he says, feeling serious about it, emotional. That’s definitely the shots. “I should have more friends I cuddle with.”

“You cuddle with Ronan,” she says.

“Not the same! Not platonic cuddles. In college sometimes I cuddled with Spencer, but it’s, I don’t know. Adulthood.” 

“Adulthood,” she agrees. “It’s stupid.” 

They go quiet for a minute, Lovett’s eyes getting heavy, and then Emily says, “So Jon and I were talking about sex the other day—”

Lovett huffs a laugh. Ah-ha: this is why she wanted alcohol and privacy. They don’t get into sex talk much, more because of Lovett’s boundaries than Emily’s, but every once in a while—well, what are friends for if not for slightly too-explicit conversations. “I hope for you both it comes up slightly more often than that implies.”

“—and _anyway_,” she says over him, “he got all—blushy and Catholic about this fantasy he’s been having for a while, where—basically, it turns out there’s like, one guy in the whole world he’s kinda into, and he thinks about giving that guy a blowjob.”

“Uh—”

“It’s not you,” she says, and Lovett blows out a breath. Before he can fully relax, though, she adds, “It’s Ronan.”

Lovett squints past the top of her head, at the wall. It’s moving a little; the whole house is moving a little. It’s either a very soft earthquake, or he’s drunk. Signs point to door number two. “Okay, sure,” he says, not quite holding back a laugh. “I mean, hey, if he ever wants to act that out, I’m sure Ronan’d be into it.”

Emily wriggles up from against him and turns around to look him in the face. “How much of that is a joke?”

“Are you saying _you_ aren’t joking?” He should be less drunk for this; Emily’s face seems like it’s swimming in a slight haze. “Jon has a gay crush and it’s Ronan? Oh my god. Oh my god. Hang on, I gotta build a time machine and tell myself in middle school that Jon fucking Favreau wants to blow _my_ fiancé.”

“Did you in middle school know who Jon was? Because he was also in middle school. In Massachusetts.”

“Not the point, Emily!”

“And Ronan was in—”

“Also not the point, Emily.” He blinks, and she turns back around, settles back against him. “Well, this has been enlightening. You want to watch She-ra?”

They watch She-ra. Three minutes in, Emily says, “Okay, but do you think Ronan would be into it, though?”

Lovett hits pause. “I—do I—you’ve _met_ your husband, right?” he asks, trying to shift her off the question. “Hot guy, gap in his teeth, pretty good ass?”

“So—maybe yes,” Emily interprets, and Lovett hits play instead of contradicting her.

***

Lovett calls Ronan the next morning as he’s getting out of bed, their usual routine. Ronan takes a lunch break to chit-chat with Lovett before work; Lovett takes a lunch break to chit-chat with Ronan during Ronan’s afternoon errand-running. It’s a good routine. “Are you alone? Be alone.”

“How alone? Because I’m in the office, I can’t, uh—”

“Not why I’m calling,” Lovett interrupts. “Although, I mean, tempting, but not why I’m calling. Emily and I had dinner last night and she—there’s this—we got drunk—”

Ronan’s voice on the other end is dry. “And now she’s pregnant—”

“Funny man,” Lovett interrupts. “Hang on, let me get a sentence formulated.”

Ronan waits, and finally Lovett manages, “What if I said Jon Favreau is bicurious for you and only you, in the whole world?”

“Uh—”

“Not kidding.”

“I’d say that’s flattering? He’s a handsome guy?”

“Irritatingly handsome, right. So Emily was telling me about this, and I think she was _asking_ me. For him.”

“Not sure I get where this is going,” Ronan says, and Lovett can hear him typing in the background.

“I don’t know how much clearer I can be! I’m saying Jon wants to have sex with you.”

“... that part I got, Jonathan. Why are you telling me about it? Just boosting my ego, or what?”

“I—yes. Love boosting your ego. Never tire of it.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like you.”

“I’m telling you about it to, you know. Get a read. Gauge your interest. Put out a feeler.”

“Gauge my interest in having sex with Favreau? I mean, I’m a red-blooded American—“

“_Oh_-kay—“

“—I like beer and apple pie, and gap-toothed Boston babes—“

“I hate you so much.”

“—and I like upgrading from speechwriter to the President to chief speechwriter to the President—“

“Listen, Mister—“

“—it’s been my plan this whole time, actually, just working it behind the scenes—“ 

Lovett hangs up on him, but then immediately calls back. Ronan is still laughing when he picks up. “Okay, okay. What’s the play? Do you want me to ignore him at parties, or am I making nice with Emily, or what?”

“I think the play is you letting him blow you, but I haven’t worked the exact details out with Emily yet.”

“... is this a bit?”

“This is not a bit.”

Ronan’s quiet for a long moment. “I’m not saying this is a trap, but I _am_ saying I need to know your exact and thorough feelings on the subject before I give my own thoughts.”

“I don’t have thoughts yet. I don’t—I don’t have thoughts yet. Except—okay, okay, I have—hang on, Pundit—okay. Weirdly, it's _better_ for me that his one big straightness exception is my fiancé rather than actually being me, which I would never have guessed. I’m feeling _very_ smug about the whole situation, frankly. Which as you know is one of my primary turn-ons, so ..."

"So that's a yes from you."

"So that's a yes from me, right."

Ronan makes a considering noise. "Okay. What, I'm gonna say no to that? If he really wants to suck a dick once in his life, I mean, who am I to withhold that joy from anyone?"

"Okay, let's not say anyone, here," Lovett tells him, laughing. "Pre-negotiated selections of people get that joy, and mostly those people are me."

“Mostly those people are named Jon, for sure,” Ronan agrees, and Lovett can hear his grin right through the phone line.

***

Lovett invites Emily out again, with a technically unspoken but emoji-implied topic on the table. She brings over wine and takeout, and leans back against the arm of the sofa with her knees loose over his. 

"I talked to Jon about it some more," Emily says, with a tone that seems to strongly imply an unspoken _in bed_. "I think for real, for real, he wants to, if you and Ronan are cool with it."

"Me and Ronan are cool with it," Lovett says, and then, "He just wants to blow Ronan? He doesn't want, you know, the favor returned?"

"He thinks that would be too much like cheating," she says. "I know! I know. It's dumb. But also kind of sweet, right?" She looks soft, thinking about it, cheeks pink. "Like ... like if he gets off, it's supposed to be with me."

"He's okay with Ronan cheating on _me_, in this scenario," Lovett can't help but point out.

"I said that to him, and he was like 'well, that's between Ronan and Lovett! That's not up to me!' I think it's just that thing where he, you know, the latent Catholicism is only really about his own stuff. You know he doesn't really care what other people do with their bodies."

Lovett does know that, he supposes. "Yeah, okay. Well, I'm still not gonna conceptualize it as cheating regardless, but if he wants to get blue balls, that's his business."

“He—the main things are, like, at our house? And with nobody else around.”

“I don’t get to watch your hot husband blow my hot fiancé? Oh, deal’s off,” Lovett says, letting it be clear on his face that he’s joking. 

“Honestly, he’s, like—sort of adorably embarrassed about the whole scenario,” she tells him. “Like way more than he usually is about sex stuff. I think if he could manage it somehow without even Ronan being there, he’d be thrilled.”

“Glory hole?” Lovett asks, kidding.

“Yeah, don’t tell him that’s an option,” Emily says, clearly not kidding at all. “I think it’s the friend thing more than the guy thing, anyway. Admitting he had fantasies about our buddy is, like, he feels kind of bad about it.”

“Not bad enough not to ask,” Lovett says, and then, “That’s not a complaint. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“What does Ronan want?” she asks.

“Uh, I think he’s pretty good with whatever kind of blowjob is on the table,” Lovett tells her. “Not to be crass, but like—he’s not gonna have any trouble with any aspect of the concept.”

“How is that crass?”

“It’s—the—it was a low-key boner joke. Maybe too low-key.”

“Way too low-key,” she says. “Okay. We’ll, like, compare calendars or whatever.”

“He’s gonna tell me everything after,” Lovett says, because that’s the one thing she and Jon should know, now that he’s thinking about it. “That has to be—Jon has to be cool with that.”

“Okay,” Emily says. “Probably same. I’ll ask him.”

“Are we done talking about this? Can we watch Clue or something?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Emily agrees. “Sold.”

***

“Last chance to veto,” Ronan says, passing by Lovett in the kitchen and kissing the side of his head. “Or, I mean, last chance to demand to be included, which seems a little more up your alley.”

Lovett’s putting away groceries—they’re sort of, slightly, trying to learn to make food at home—and he just snorts, leaning into the fridge to dislodge something old and gross.

“Whatever that is, leave it there until I leave. That’s not the seductive scent I want to arrive with.”

“You think he’d still be into it if I rubbed you down with green mold first? Interesting opportunity to experiment.”

“He’s straight, so I’m not sure he’s gonna be into it no matter what,” Ronan points out. “I’ll see you later, right? You’re not going out?”

“No, no, you’re the only one with a hot date, stud. I intend to be on the couch watching Unbelievable and eating a sandwich that I made with my own two hands, unless I give up and order one made by someone else.”

“I believe in your ability to make a sandwich, Jonathan. Okay. I’ll see you.” He waits, but Lovett’s still fishing around in the back of the fridge. “Hey. Kiss for the road, here?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get your kisses from Favreau,” Lovett says, but he emerges and slides into Ronan’s arms, familiar and easy. “Love you. Hope he doesn’t throw up on your dick.”

“Thank you for that image.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to send you off prepared for any eventuality, baby. I’m a boy scout.”

“You aren’t.”

“I’m not, but I could have been, if Jason Ginty hadn’t told the—”

“Bye, Jonathan,” Ronan says, and Lovett smiles, letting him cut off the story. He’s heard it once or maybe sixteen times, and they both know it. “Good luck with the sandwich.”

“Good luck with the blowjob,” Lovett agrees, and Ronan kisses him one more time on his way out the door.

***

Jon Favreau is _very_ nervous.

Ronan can do nervous. Ronan has had a lot of practice—albeit in somewhat different circumstances—helping calm nervous people enough to let them get on with what they want to do. In this case, it’s giving a blowjob rather than revealing personal details, but still: Ronan’s definitely equipped for this. He can calm Jon down.

Oof—not Jon, not right now. That’s a little too wires-crossed for him. Favs.

If anything, it’s easier to calm _Favs_ down with more tools at his disposal. Ronan has never offered a source a shoulder rub, but Favs starts to breathe easier once Ronan’s got his hands on him. Kissing on the mouth is, amusingly, verboten—Favs has maybe watched Pretty Woman once too often—but he seems to like Ronan mouthing at the nape of his neck. 

“We don’t have to,” Favs says, faintly.

“Okay,” Ronan agrees. “You want to stop?”

“No, I—no.” Favs swallows. “We can go in the, uh.” He gestures, not towards the master but the guest room, where Ronan and Lovett once slept over after a particularly raucous party. It makes sense, now that Ronan’s thinking about it, that Favs doesn’t want this to happen in his marital bed. It’s—what had Jonathan said, about Emily describing Favs’ limits?—sweet. It’s sweet. 

Ronan follows him, hand on the small of Favs’ back. He’s absolutely certain they’ll both enjoy this more if Favs is aroused enough not to be so awkward, and he’s enjoying himself, getting to touch a little. Favs shivers when Ronan pulls his henley to the side enough to kiss the soft skin of his shoulder where it joins his neck, and then up behind his ear, and then Favs is saying, shakily, “Can we—uh—is now good?”

Ronan bites back the urge to say what he would say to Jonathan, something a little mocking, and just goes, "Yeah, I'm hard for you already," gentle-voiced and encouraging.

Favs makes a startled sound, and Ronan realizes that’s maybe—definitely?—something Favs has never been told in his whole life. It looks like he likes it, though, and it definitely looks like arousal is overtaking his nerves. 

Favs finds his words, a beat too late. "Oh, that's—good. Great. Wow. Um, do you wanna, like, lie down?"

"Do you want me to lie down? We could do it however you want. Would it be easier if you were on your back and I—" 

Favs blinks at him, and Ronan pauses. "Is that blank stare like—very yes, or very no?"

"Very yes," Favs admits, soft. "But maybe we can start the other way? So I can, like. Try stuff."

"Can I make a suggestion? If I'm lying down, you'll have to support yourself, and it impedes, like, having both your hands to use. We could try sideways, or with you on your knees, or—okay, is that the same very-yes look?"

Ronan's charmed by how big Favs’ reactions are, how much it seems like he really has been wanting this and thinking about it. Looking at Favs’ soft expression, he’s reminded again that this isn’t his Jonathan at all, isn’t someone who already knows Ronan’s into him. Favs deserves the comfort of some clear statements of attraction and intent. "You're gorgeous, you know that? So handsome. I'll sit on the edge of the bed, okay? You want a pillow?" He lets himself babble a bit, soothingly, while Favs looks easier and happier under the flow of talk.

Favs sinks onto his knees on the pillow and Ronan waits to see if he wants Ronan to pull his own dick out or what, but Favs is getting to it, running his hands up Ronan's thighs and just ... staring. It's pretty flattering, actually. This whole thing has been delightfully flattering, and Ronan twists his lips and tries, "Yeah, you want it, don't you?"

"Yeah," Favs breathes, cheeks flushed dark under his tan. His hands slide up higher, but then pause, like he's not sure he can.

Ronan can definitely make _that_ easy on him. "Open my fly," he suggests, or maybe it comes out a bit more direct than just a suggestion, but either way, Favs nods jerkily and reaches for it. He's awkward, fingers fumbling a little, but Ronan's got tight briefs on and can afford a bit of zipper-fumbling without the risk of tissue damage.

He wasn't expecting Favs to tug at his slacks, inviting Ronan to push them down, but he's not saying no. A hard dick in tight boxer-briefs is the whole picture, after all. Ronan definitely gets wanting to see that live and in person.

"You can—" Ronan starts to say, but then Favs is touching him, and Ronan's maybe going to let him do what he wants, actually. The way he's sitting, right on the edge of the bed, Favs can get close between his thighs. It's close enough that Favs' eyes, tracking the way his hand is sliding up to cup Ronan's cock through the light-gray fabric, almost look like they're crossing. "Fuck, that's good," Ronan encourages him, and Favs glances up through his lashes and then focuses back down, closing his fingers as much as the fabric will let him, gripping the line of Ronan's dick.

Ronan tries to memorize every part of this for later. For himself, but mostly, as he memorizes most sexy things these days, to recount to Jonathan.

He thought it would take longer before Favs tried anything with his mouth, but suddenly it's just _there_, pressure and hot breath right up against him. He can't feel the wetness of Favs' tongue through the briefs, but he can imagine it extremely well. "Fuck, yeah. You want to suck me?" It comes out of him without much conscious thought, easy patter from years of dirty talk with Jonathan, but it seems to work for Favs, anyway. He's making a pleasure noise, eyes shut, pressing his whole face into Ronan now.

"You can—do you want me to take the underwear off, F—uh, Jon?" He isn’t going to call him Favs to his face, right now, when he usually never does. But it’s stranger than he'd expected; Favs is not at all his Jonathan, who would already be stripping him, impatient for skin. Favs is still just breathing against him, tongue moving enough that Ronan can feel the change in pressure. _He'd_ like to get down to skin, but this is for Favs, and he supposes he can be patient today.

He wants to put his hand in Favs' hair, doesn't know if it's allowed. It's less full of product than usual, which feels like a maybe, so Ronan asks: "Can I pet your hair? Is that, do you like that?"

"God. Yeah, I—you can do whatever," Favs says, which is good enough for Ronan to slide his fingers in and give Favs just the smallest, lightest tug. Favs groans, and now, _now_ he's scrabbling for the waistband of Ronan's underwear, peeling it out and down. 

Ronan rises up enough to let Favs pull them down, as he now seems intent on doing, and then Favs' face is just ... on his dick, between one breath and the next. Mouth-first, this guy. Ronan can't say he wasn't expecting some other forms of touching, first, but Favs has committed to this blowjob plan and apparently it's starting right the fuck now, with Favs' lips rubbing against the underside of his cock.

"Do you—want any tips and tricks, or—"

Favs groans again. Ronan can't entirely tell if that's a yes or a no, but honestly, Favs seems to have a plan here, and maybe Ronan shouldn't interrupt it. He's still got his eyes squeezed shut, but he's exploring with his tongue and his lips, and just watching him go is hot enough for right now. "Really wanted this, huh?" Ronan murmurs, and pets through his hair again. "Tell me when you want me to move, okay?"

Favs is getting his hands in the game, now, a little. Maybe because that's easier for him than opening his eyes: he can feel his way up until he's grasping Ronan's cock and, _jesus fuck_, feeding it between his lips. "Oh, god," Ronan murmurs, and then, "Yeah, just like that." Just that slow and easy, stopping to lick his lips wet and then leaning back in. He knows what's gonna be good; he's thought about this. Maybe he talked with Emily about it, or maybe he just pictured it, over and over, stroking himself off. God, Ronan wishes he could see that.

"Feels so good," Ronan tells him, and then, "If you want to try the other position, we should probably—this feels pretty fucking good, we should probably make sure we don't get too close to the edge and forget to switch it up."

Favs makes a soft noise but leans back, hand still wrapped around Ronan's dick. "Uh—yeah," he murmurs, eyes slitting open. He sucks his lips into his mouth, and Ronan can't tell if it's awkwardness or just—_tasting_. Jesus.

"Climb up? You'll want a good pillow," Ronan suggests, and waits for Favs to lie down in the centre of the bed, arms up around his chosen pillow. His positioning makes it easy for Ronan to crawl over top of him, straddling him, braced on the headboard so he can lean over and get his cock back into sucking distance. "This good?"

Favs more or less whimpers, so ... yeah. Ronan's pretty sure this is good.

It's impossible for Ronan to stare down at Favs' pretty, pink lips and not want to feed his cock between them, so he does, holding his dick steady in one hand and shifting his hips forward slowly. Favs doesn't object; he opens up wide, tongue out on his lower lip. He can't possibly know how fucking good he looks like that, and Ronan has to tell him: "Jesus fuck, you're so hot right now, Jon. Do you have any idea how hot you look with my dick in your mouth?"

It doesn't seem to be too much. Too much scrutiny, maybe—Favs' eyes slide shut as soon as his mouth is full again, no further aiming necessary—but he makes another of those sweet, needy groans that tell Ronan he's into it.

Ronan got a brief view of just how hard Favs was when he climbed up here—didn't, despite his own wants, rub up against it—and he doesn't envy it in those jeans. Emily, via Lovett, had been pretty clear, though, that Favs isn't open to reciprocation, and won't be in pain. Or, as Lovett had suggested, sotto voce, he won't be in pain he doesn't like, at least.

Favs’ hand moves up Ronan’s thigh until he’s cupping Ronan’s hip. Ronan’s expecting an ass-grab—he has a very grabbable ass, thanks—but instead gets, jesus, Favs pulling him forward, encouraging Ronan to push deeper into his mouth. “Let’s be, uh—careful,” Ronan grits out. “Not too, uh, too deep.” Favs is new at this, and Ronan wants his one blowjob experience to be better than most first attempts. Favs relents, easing up on the pulling but—there is it—sliding his hand around to cup the curve of Ronan’s ass instead. “Can you put your other hand on my dick?” Ronan suggests, voice cracking. Favs is doing it before Ronan can explain any further, wrapping his fist around the shaft. He isn’t moving it, but Ronan will take the squeeze alongside the slow rhythm of pushing between Favs’ pretty lips.

“You like it, huh? Thought about sucking me off? You know how sexy and flattering that is, that you wanted my cock in your mouth?”

Favs pulls back, spluttering for a second. “Sorry—sorry, just—“

“Too far?” Ronan asks, fighting the urge to cringe. 

“Too, uh. Too hot,” Favs tells him. “You’re good at the, uh, with the ... words.” 

Ronan suppresses the obvious speechwriter jokes and just runs a finger over Favs’ bottom lip. “Lots of practice,” he says. “Long-distance, you know?”

“Emily and I were long-distance for a while,” Favs protests. “We didn’t, like ... mostly it was a lot of heavy breathing on the phone.”

Ronan laughs. “That works, too. Maybe not for years, though?”

“Yeah,” Favs says. His eyes are open again, staring at Ronan’s dick, still held in his own loose fist. “Um—you can—more?”

Ronan feels the shiver hit him, and lets Favs see it. “Yeah. Definitely, yeah. Can you—if I thrust a little, can you move your hand in rhythm?”

“Yeah,” Favs says, not even looking embarrassed this time, just eager. “I can, yeah.”

“God. Okay. Open your mouth for me, Jon.”

He does, tongue on his lower lip again, eyes shutting as the head of Ronan’s cock moves across the flat of it. Ronan lets himself move for real now, shallow but at a pace that will actually get him off, and Favs only takes a moment to find the rhythm with his hand. He’s working in counterpoint, though, and maybe that’s what he likes but Ronan wants one smooth slide, hand and mouth. He covers Favs’ fist with his own, guiding him, and Favs groans again, shivery-good across Ronan’s dick. 

“Gonna—not stop,” Ronan tells him. “Unless you need to. Wanna—you’re gonna make me come, sweetheart,” and he hadn’t meant to call him that but it makes Favs moan and suck harder, so. Absolutely fine. Ronan does feel sappy towards him in this moment, this Jon Favreau who’s letting himself ask for what he wants, letting himself feel something new. This Jon Favreau who’s made himself vulnerable to Ronan, and to Emily and Lovett, who’s trusting—trusting them—god, _god_, Ronan’s close suddenly.

This part, they’d worked out ahead of time, because Ronan likes to go into things with the most important parts pre-planned. “Oh, uh—no, I thought—in my—uh,” was most of what Favs had managed to say.

“Gets messy,” Ronan offered. “It’s just as easy not to, it’ll still feel great.”

“Messy is—that’s—I like—“ Favs tried, and then, pretending to scratch his eyebrow to hide his face, “Please? In—“ He swallowed. “Uh, my mouth.”

Ronan wasn’t going to turn down such a polite request. “Gonna come in your mouth, Jon,” he says now, not quite there but closer every time he looks down at the pleasure on Favs’ face, the focus. “Gonna—you’re making me feel so good, your mouth is so good for me, it’s so—I’m so close.” 

He shuts his own eyes for a moment to just feel the softness of Jon’s mouth behind his taut lips, the gentle suction on every upstroke, the squeeze of his fist. Ronan adjusts the way he’s supporting himself on the headboard, knees spreading a little wider on the bed, so he can speed up just a little, one extra tick of speed that’s just—exactly—what he—

“Coming,” he grunts, and then he is, freezing as well as he can so he doesn’t jerk forward and choke Favs. He forces his eyes open to watch Favs try to swallow, rivulets of come rolling out of the corners of his mouth. He’s so gorgeous like this. Ronan wonders just how messy he likes it, if he’d like it if Ronan pulled out and rubbed his still-hard cock on Favs’ face. The thought’s enough to make him shiver, aftershocks running through him. He doesn’t do it, but he stores the imagined picture in his head to look at later, to relay to Lovett. _Imagine if I had—do you think he’d have liked it?_

He pulls back, and Favs lets go of him with stiff fingers. “Let me put my clothes back on?” Ronan suggests, and when Favs doesn’t object, gets off the bed and does. He climbs back in, after, wrapping an arm over Favs’ chest. “You want me to head out? Or are you more of a cuddler?”

Favs’ tongue darts out to the corners of his mouth, tasting. “I—“ he has to stop and clear his throat. “Normally I would, uh, cuddling would be great, and please don’t think I just want to get you out, that was—that was really good, like, thank you for—all of that, just, um. I’m really—not in the afterglow, yet, and—“

_Right_. Ronan feels lax and sated. Favs, however, feels hard and urgent and tense. “Absolutely,” Ronan tells him, getting up. “You want me to text Emily that we’re, uh, done?” _So she can come back and help you with that_ hangs in the air between them.

Favs laughs, eyes fluttering open. “I’ll text her. Thanks. Um, for everything.”

“You don’t often get to say this with so much accuracy,” Ronan tells him, already most of the way out of the room. He stops at the doorway, leaning back in, fighting a grin. He’s already starting to think through how he’ll tell this story to Jonathan—lying behind him and slowly jerking him off, maybe, murmuring the details into his ear. Ten, fifteen minutes from now. Less, if he hits mostly green lights. “But you can rest assured, it was _very_ much my pleasure.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, that went well,” Ronan says, and Lovett looks up to see him shutting the door behind him, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. 

“Did it now,” Lovett says, grinning at him and pausing his game. “You want to tell me about it? Because I’m not getting through this chamber anytime soon, and I could use a distraction.”

Ronan toes out of his shoes and drops his keys in the bowl. His hair looks as tidy as when he’d left, and Lovett wants to know if he fixed it before he came back, or if Jon never touched it. Either way, the sight makes him want to mess it up now. 

“How distracted do you want to be? Because I’ve got some unused reciprocation energy in me.”

“Gosh, no, I definitely can’t make time for that,” Lovett says, and then Ronan’s in his space, a knee on the couch, kissing him. Maybe he really does have pent-up energy; he’s kissing like he’s been gone weeks, not a scant hour. 

Lovett can definitely go for some needy Ronan; it’s one of his favorite of Ronan’s moods. He shifts them up off the couch, Ronan shaky as he stands back up, and hustles them towards the bedroom. “Go on, tell me about it,” Lovett says. “I take it he actually managed the, uh, plan? Was it good?”

“It was sweet,” Ronan says. “He’s sweet. And he really did want it. I think Emily is probably getting the ride of her life right now, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“Huh,” Lovett says. “That’s nice for them. Stop making me think about Emily having sex, though. Tell me about getting your dick sucked.”

“Actually,” Ronan says, “the whole drive home, I was thinking—you should let me show you.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna object to—”

“Nuh-uh,” Ronan interrupts. “Like—you’re me, and I’m—”

“Oh,” Lovett says. “_Oh_.” He thinks about it for a second, swallowing. “Is that too weird?”

“Not for me, but we don’t have to—”

Lovett shakes his head. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “With the rules and everything? Get your kisses in now, if—”

Ronan kisses him, hard, and then steps back. His whole demeanor changes; he looks nervous, closed-in. “Uh, so—maybe if you, um. Sat on the bed?”

He doesn’t sound like Jon, not really. But he certainly doesn’t sound like himself, and the overall picture is definitely telling Lovett more than he thinks a description would have. Nervous, definitely, but also _wanting_ it. Nervous about how much he wants it. 

Also: Jon blew Ronan on his knees? Fuck. Lovett’s gonna be thinking about that for a while.

“Sure,” Lovett says, and starts to get his pants off. Ronan shoots him a look that isn’t at all Jon Favreau and shakes his head a smidge. Okay: clothes on, got it. 

Ronan settles to his knees, close, and winces. “Do you need—” Right: Lovett’s the one with the knowledge and skills to pass on, in this scenario. “You should be on a pillow, we aren’t 19 anymore.” Ronan wouldn’t have said that, he supposes. He needs a minute to get into character.

Ronan would be … how would Ronan be? Fondly mocking, is his first thought, except that’s the way they are together, not the way Ronan would be with Jon, who was so awkward about this that he wished even Ronan didn’t have to be there for his fantasy. With him, Ronan would be kind, and encouraging, and generous. Lovett hands over the pillow and, as Ronan adjusts onto it, Lovett tries to settle into the version of Ronan that Lovett’s seen with sources, with sweet overbearing fans. 

“You’re doing really well already,” he offers, and Ronan blushes and glances down, looking pleased. “Do you want to—”

Ronan interrupts him by running both hands up the insides of Lovett’s thighs, up until he meets the hem of Lovett’s shorts and then up onto the fabric instead of underneath. He’s kind of _staring_, in a way that’s hard to mistake for anything other than hunger, at where Lovett’s dick is now more than making itself known. 

Lovett, as Lovett, wants to say: “Yeah, you want my cock, don’t you, baby?” Lovett, as Ronan, as Ronan being gentle with Jon, says, “You can touch it, if you want.” 

Ronan’s eyes flick up to his, and then back down, and he watches his own hand carefully skate up—dodging the bulge—to pop the button of Lovett’s fly. His hand shakes, a little too much to be real, as he pulls Lovett’s zipper down, and then he tugs at the shorts. Lovett rises obediently to let Ronan pull them off him.

If Ronan had been staring before, now it’s intense enough to make Lovett have a strange urge to cover himself. He’s touching Lovett again, though, finally—ah—circling a hand around the length of Lovett’s cock through his underwear, squeezing down. “Feels nice,” Lovett says. “You’re doing great.” 

Ronan makes a soft, aroused noise—is that part of the role?—and leans in to rest his open mouth over the head of Lovett’s cock. “Oh,” Lovett says, soft, suddenly seeing the picture in his mind’s eye of Jon, leaning in with his eyes closed, just like this, mouthing at Ronan’s dick through his briefs. “Oh, that’s—you’re so good, yeah.” 

It’s hard not to touch him. That hadn’t been part of the rules, exactly, but it doesn’t feel exactly right. On the other hand, it doesn’t feel exactly right to just sit here and receive, hands on the bed, so he risks it, slides a hand into Ronan’s tidy hair and messes it up the way he’d wanted to before. Ronan groans, and _that_, Lovett’s sure, is acting. Jon Favreau groans like that if you touch his hair? Fuck. This is maybe too much for Lovett to know about his cofounder.

He’s not gonna call it off, though. 

Ronan reaches for the waistband of Lovett’s underwear, eager enough that one of his nails catches on Lovett’s skin, giving him a brief flash of sharp pain through the pleasure. He hisses, and Ronan looks up, breaking character. “Nothing. Clip your nails later. Don’t let me stop you.”

Ronan spots the scrape and leans in to kiss it, gentle, then folds himself back into character. More carefully eager, this time, he peels Lovett out of his briefs and, as Lovett kicks them off one foot, suddenly just lands his mouth on the base of Lovett’s cock like he’s been released from a tractor beam. 

The velocity is remarkable. It’s not Ronan at all; it’s artless and an entirely different kind of needy. It’s _wildly_ hot. “He did that?” Lovett can’t help but ask, and Ronan makes an affirmative noise, sliding his lips up to the head of Lovett’s cock. Lovett shakes his head in wonder, invisible to Ronan, whose eyes are closed, and then says in his best gentle Ronan voice, “That’s it, yeah. You can do whatever you want.”

Ronan groans again, showier this time. Lovett’s tempted to move a foot over and see if he’s actually hard, so soon after getting what seems to have been a very novel blowjob, but decides against it. This is acting, either way: it’s Jon, getting off on running his mouth all over Ronan’s bare dick. 

Which is pretty relatable. Lovett gets off on that all the time. 

Ronan’s still kind of just feeling around with his mouth, tongue darting out occasionally. It’s definitely different, but Lovett’s not complaining. After a minute, it gets a bit more traditional: Ronan runs a hand back up, eyes still shut, to grasp Lovett’s dick in one hand and drop his mouth down over the head of it. “Ah, motherfuck,” Lovett says. “That’s so good, you’re so good, yeah.” 

Ronan sucks him, tentative but pretty well, for long enough that Lovett starts to kick into actual gear. This isn’t exactly what he likes, but it’ll get him off, given some time and focus. Which makes it a little bit annoying when Ronan pulls off and says, “Maybe now we could—um—up on the bed?”

Lovett very much wants to pull him back in, but okay, yes, this is how it had gone. Jon hadn’t in fact blown Ronan on his knees the whole time—fair enough, because really, they _aren’t_ 19 anymore, pillow or not. He gets up, feeling a little silly in just his t-shirt, and climbs into the middle of the bed, but Ronan grabs his arm. Ronan, not Jon, smirks and says, “Oh, that’s not what we did.” Lovett gets it as soon as Ronan insinuates himself into the space Lovett had been about to take, one of the big pillows under his neck. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lovett says. 

“Nope.” Ronan looks smug, and Lovett doesn’t blame him. “Not my idea, either. You should have seen his face when I mentioned it as an option. Like—” The face he makes actually doesn’t convey anything at all to Lovett; it’s aggressively blank. “Super into it.”

“I believe you,” Lovett says. “I mean, it’s mind-boggling, and I don’t know why you think that face means anything at all, but I believe you and I definitely want to fuck your mouth now.”

“Shallow,” Ronan says. “I was nice to him, it was his first time.” 

“It’s not _your_ first time,” Lovett says, but then relents. “Yeah, okay. Any other tips, since I wasn’t actually there?”

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” Ronan says, high-pitched, batting his eyes furiously. He laughs and stops the pose, but says, “Seriously, though. I told him he was hot a bunch. He liked it.” 

Lovett can do that, easy. “Okay, go back to being nervous and weird, now.” He climbs over, planting himself close enough, and Ronan opens his mouth showily, tongue on his bottom lip. “No. He did _not_ do that.”

“He did.”

“I’m gonna get him to send me whatever the fuck porn he watched to prep for this, because—”

“I swear it looked spontaneous,” Ronan says. “Like, totally natural. And he’s not a great actor, so—”

Lovett shakes his head. “Still. No way.” Ronan just shrugs, and scrunches up his face like it’s a reset of the scene. Opens his mouth again, pretty and wanting, so that Lovett aches to push right in. He doesn’t; he leans forward just enough to offer the option, and when Ronan closes his eyes and then seals his lips around the head, leans in a little more, shallow and easy. 

“You look so fucking hot like that,” Lovett tries, and Ronan groans, adding a hint of vibration to the warmth of his mouth. Apparently Jon has a limited repertoire of sex noises. It’s hard to focus on that, though, instead of just the slow rhythm of thrusting into Ronan’s hot mouth, trying to keep it shallow and easy. Jon had wanted _this_, to have Ronan control the blowjob, to have Ronan on top of him. “So fucking gorgeous.” 

Ronan taps a hand on Lovett’s thigh and Lovett pulls back, not sure if that’s what he wants. It isn’t; Ronan stares pointedly at his own hand and then tugs Lovett back in. “Unhelpful,” Lovett murmurs, and tries to focus on thinking instead of on the warm wet suction. Nope, can’t be done. “You’re gonna have to—actually tell me,” he says, louder, and Ronan pulls off.

“I asked him to use his hand, and then I had to guide him some more with that,” Ronan says. “Actually, in retrospect, I feel like there’s a chance he really did want me to fuck his throat. But anyway—yeah. Try that.” 

“You can’t just drop a realization like that on the table and leave it there,” Lovett says, voice cracking. “You—now all I can see is you grabbing him by the hair and shoving your dick down his throat. You know that, right?”

Ronan’s slow blink says he’s picturing that, now, too. “Fuck. You know, maybe we could—we could deviate from reality at this point,” he says. “Do a mirror universe version where I wasn’t quite so nice to him.”

“Fucking—” Lovett’s hips snap forward, enough to drag his wet cock along Ronan’s cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” He reaches behind him to find that, at some point, Ronan did indeed get hard again. “Get yourself off?” 

Ronan wriggles an arm between his body and Lovett’s thigh, Lovett shifting to accommodate him. “Okay. You get too into it, I don’t try to stop you. I don’t want to stop you. I want my once-ever blowjob to be—I want it to be overwhelming.”

“Good notes,” Lovett breathes. “Very good notes. Fucking hell. This pillow good, or—”

“Yeah. Go for it.”

Lovett controls himself enough to start off the way they had been, Ronan’s spare hand on his thigh, the head of his dick softly rocking into Ronan’s mouth. “So hot,” he says, and Ronan groans, and that’s as good a cue as any for Lovett to slide a hand into his hair and hold him just where he wants him, angling him to make it easy to shove farther in. 

Another groan from Ronan, startled but excited, and Lovett feels the movement of his arm, presumably fishing his dick out of his pants. “Yeah, you like it, huh? You want it, you want me to come down your throat. You’re so gorgeous like this, you look so, god, so fucking good, you’ve got me so hard.” Jon might have wanted this, wanted Ronan to take him like this, and that’s enough to make sweat dampen Lovett’s back under his shirt, enough to make his muscles shiver. 

Ronan’s eyes are shut, and Lovett can feel the rhythm of him jerking himself off now. He’s gone so easy for it, like he thinks this is how Jon would have been, soft and pliable. Ronan would have come in the door looking so different, Lovett thinks; looking not just self-satisfied but overcome, maybe exhausted. 

Jon might have wanted this, but he for sure wanted to suck Ronan off. He’d _asked_ them for it, had wanted it enough to get past his awkwardness and embarrassment. “You want—you want my cock this much, huh? Been thinking about it so much, been—been jerking off about it, about how it would feel if you sucked me off.” It’s getting harder to talk. Ronan isn’t actively sucking him much at all, just keeping his lips taut, but that’s more than enough for Lovett to be driving fast toward the edge. 

Lovett squeezes his fist a little, pulling at the hair he’s grabbed, and Ronan’s noise this time is all his own, his arm speeding up enough that Lovett suddenly notices the sound of his jacking off, newly loud or just newly piercing this haze of sensation. Lovett can’t meet that rhythm with his hips, not without hurting one or the both of them, but he speeds up a little anyway. 

“Want you so much,” he gasps, not for Jon Favreau at all. “Love you so much.” 

Ronan’s eyes open, looking up at him, and that’s when Lovett comes, shaking with the force of it, frozen in place for a long moment and then pulling up so Ronan can gasp air in. He lets go of Ronan’s hair and runs a trembling thumb across Ronan’s cheekbone, the soft skin of his temple. “So good, Ronan.”

Ronan’s eyes shut again, the sounds speeding up even more. His other hand finds Lovett’s thigh again and squeezes hard, and then he gasps and his body jerks under Lovett’s, once, twice, before gravity seems to drag him down to the bed. 

Lovett takes his own deep breaths, heart rate slowing, and climbs off to the side. Maybe they’ll nap before dinner. 

“So it was not exactly like that,” Ronan says, voice subtly hoarse. “But, uh, good edits.”

“Anytime,” Lovett tells him, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

***

“Ronan’s been waffling over whether to send some kind of thank-you gift,” Lovett says, handing Emily a glass of wine.

“I know, he texted. I feel like if anything, Jon should send that to him? Probably we should just all go out to dinner or something and like, they can fight over the bill.”

“I do like the image of that. ‘No, no, let me get it, you gave me a blowjob.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll get it, you gave me the chance to act out a fantasy.’ Actually, maybe the two of them owe _us_ dinner.”

“That sounds right,” Emily agrees. “Definitely, yeah. Dinner and a spa day.”

“I’m not saying no to that.” Lovett clinks his glass against hers. “We basically provided them with a lifetime of beautiful memories.”

Emily laughs, tipping her head back and sliding down in her chair. “Ronan’s good, then?”

“Ronan’s always good,” Lovett says. “Except for the overwork and the never sleeping and the still being followed around by private detectives, that kind of thing.” 

“Uh-huh. Hopefully he wasn’t followed to our place. But he’s good about this?”

Lovett didn’t realize she’d been wondering. He sees Jon at work, can independently assess that he’s happy, if still a little awkward, about the whole thing. “He had a good time,” Lovett says. “He’s definitely good, yeah.”

“And you guys are good?”

“It’s a little different in gay land,” Lovett says. 

“Yeah, but I know you.” 

She does know him; she knows petty jealousy is one of his worst traits. “Fair,” he says. “But it’s you guys. It’s nice. It felt nice, to—be able to help. And I’m still pretty smug about the whole, you know, Ronan’s so hot he turned Jon gay for a hot minute.”

Emily rolls her eyes and visibly suppresses a comment that, he’s guessing, is about bisexuality or fluidity or something. She says, instead, “He was, like—he _really_ liked it.”

“Ronan said, yeah.” Lovett hasn’t had quite enough wine to slip and tell her what Ronan had actually said, about Emily getting the ride of her life. “You got there right after?”

“Yeah, I was just chilling at the Starbucks.”

Lovett laughs, picturing her on her phone with a Pumpkin Spice Latte, waiting for her husband to get done blowing Ronan. “Where all the wives wait for their husbands’, uh, dalliances—”

“Are we calling it a dalliance?” Emily says. “I’m not sure we’re calling it a dalliance.”

“Well, I was gonna just say blowjobs, but that seemed rude.” 

She snickers. “I’m pretty sure I was the only one in the Starbucks waiting out a blowjob. I’d put money on that.”

“You just never know what’s happening in other people’s bedrooms,” Lovett says. “People are mysteries. Some of them like Starbucks, some of them like blowjobs—”

“Very mysterious indeed,” Emily tells him, and pours back the rest of her wine. “Okay. I’ll tell Jon that Ronan’s good and that he owes us dinner and a massage.”

“Dinner, a massage, and that thing with the cucumbers over your eyes.”

“That’s what we should have done while they were together, now that I think about it. We get facials, they—” She giggles instead of finishing the joke. “Well, you know.”

“Next time,” Lovett says, and watches her face get thoughtful. “Okay, that was a joke, though.”

She shrugs. “Yeah. I think Jon’s all set, honestly. But, you know. It’s cool that—I don’t know. It’s cool that it worked out, you know? That you guys were cool with it, that it went okay.”

“That you were cool with it,” Lovett points out, which still seems to him like the biggest of the hurdles to cross. 

“Oh, I had my conditions,” Emily says, self-satisfied. “I got a lot of my own perks. It was a very happy wife, happy life kind of week in our be—uh, in our house.”

“More wine?” Lovett asks her, faux-innocent.

“Oh, whatever. In our bedroom.”

“I’m scandalized,” Lovett tells her. “I, meanwhile, would never have sexualized the generous gift of time and knowledge that Ronan agreed to bestow on Jon.”

She stares at him, and he breaks, cracking up and setting his own glass down on the table before he risks dropping it. “You almost bought that,” he says, catching his breath. “I swear you almost bought that.”

“Not for a second.”

“You did! You totally thought—” 

She sticks her tongue out at him and pours them both more wine. “So—you got something out of it, I got something out of it, they certainly got something out of it,” she concludes.

“We should still make them buy us dinner, though.”

“Duh,” Emily agrees, and they toast to it.


End file.
